


just for old times' sake (i won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay)

by therestisconfetti



Category: Glee
Genre: Set in S4, obviously, pining/angst because they are still so in love, post breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisconfetti/pseuds/therestisconfetti
Summary: They’ve spent every Christmas together for as long as they’ve known each other, a tradition Santana secretly loved way more than she’d like to ever admit. But things are different now because Brittany isn’t her girlfriend, and she’s a loose definition of a best friend these days, and things aren’t as simple as they used to be.or: holiday fic based on 'tis the damn season by taylor swift
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	just for old times' sake (i won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay)

**Author's Note:**

> I am convinced Taylor Swift is actually trying to ruin me with two albums in a span of five months. Anyway, after listening to this song WAY more than I should, I immediately thought of Santana and Brittany and the first Christmas post breakup. So here we are, lol.
> 
> title from 'tis the damn season by taylor swift, obviously

It’s Brittany who reaches out first.

It’s Brittany because of  _ course _ it’s Brittany.

They’ve spent every Christmas together in some way, shape or form since they met freshman year, including junior year when Brittany was dating Artie who made an appearance at the Pierce’s house on Christmas morning.

(Santana sulked on the couch next to Brittany’s little sister upon his arrival until Brittany bounded over to her, eyes bright and full of excitement as she handed Santana her Christmas present.

She reveled in the way Artie watched them warily, in the way Brittany threw her arms around her and said “I love you so much, San. Merry Christmas!” )

It’s Brittany because Santana has typed up message after message since she’s come home from Louisville, trying to find the words to say that make sense but always deleting them before ever pressing send. Because Brittany S. Pierce is still her best friend, even if they aren’t girlfriends anymore and even if it’s hard to figure out what  _ best friends _ means when you’re broken up because long distance was ruining you and you haven’t quite figured out a new rhythm after falling into each other so easily for as long as you’ve known each other.

It’s Brittany who does what Santana’s tried to do for a week and a half now.

* * *

**Britt Britt**   
iMessage   
Today, 6:15 PM

Are you in town for Christmas?

Yeah   
Dad’s working up until Christmas and Mom’s out of town until Christmas Eve for a case   
But I’m home

Yay :)   
I miss you

* * *

It’s always been that simple for Brittany. While Santana’s known for overthinking more often than not, Brittany just  _ does _ . And when it comes to Brittany, Santana often finds herself following along, hypnotized by those damn blue eyes and that stupid charm, which is how Santana finds herself pulling up to the Pierce house almost an hour after Brittany texted her, the familiar Christmas decorations on the lawn warming Santana’s heart.

Brittany exits as if on cue, because Santana knows Brittany can see the front street from her window, and she looks just like she always has, blonde hair free from the Cheerios ponytail and bundled up in an adorable overcoat and a Brittany-esque hat. It’s so familiar that Santana knows she’s going to fall too easily into old habits, but she finds she doesn’t mind, not when Brittany skips towards Santana’s car like it’s Christmas morning.

“Santana!”

Brittany lets out an excited squeal, throwing her arms around Santana before she can even close the passenger door.

“Hey Britt,” Santana greets with a content sigh, taking in the scent of vanilla and fruity shampoo that’s grown oh so familiar over the years. “It’s freezing outside, close the damn door.”

Brittany giggles, right next to Santana’s ear, before she pulls away and does what she’s told.

And it’s the same as it’s ever been between them. Brittany still takes control of the music and Santana tells her to stop changing songs before they end and Brittany is ignoring her until they both find a song to sing along to and it all feels the same except it’s not and deep down, Santana knows that. But it’s hard to remember when they’re marching into Breadstix and claiming  _ their _ booth, staff members looking both surprised and irritated that the duo has made their return together after Santana’s gone away for college.

It’s easier than Santana had anticipated, the conversation and the laughs and the teasing. For weeks now she had been nervous, wondering how much of it was actually okay between them - wondering if she’d even  _ see _ Brittany this Christmas. Thanksgiving break wasn’t enough of an understanding, not when they were with everyone else, not when regionals was on everyone’s minds, not when Quinn was around and everything felt normal with the three of them - like freshman year, even - if only for a fleeting weekend.

But there are things they don’t say.

Santana doesn’t tell Brittany how miserable Kentucky is, and she doesn’t tell her about how badly she wants to get away from that place. She doesn’t tell Brittany about how she’s contemplating dropping out all together, how maybe New York isn’t such a crazy idea after all, not if Gayberry and Lady Hummel are managing well enough out there.

And Brittany...well, Brittany’s phone buzzes on the table during dinner, and Santana can’t help the curiosity when her eyes wander and  _ Sam!!! _ is on the screen. Brittany pays it no mind though, shoving pasta into her mouth.

“You aren’t going to answer that?” Santana asks curiously.

Brittany shakes her head, like it’s obvious. “No, it’s just Sam. I can call him later. And anyway, he’s like, visiting his cousins for Christmas so it’s probably not important.”

And Santana nods like it makes sense, but after the call goes to voicemail there is another buzz and Sam has texted Brittany and Santana has no right to feel any sort of jealousy, but she does anyway.

She’s all too aware of the way Sam has claimed the top spot of Brittany’s best friend since Santana’s gone. Santana should be happy someone is there for Brittany when she can’t be, that someone can take care of all the things Brittany needs help with, of understanding the way things work in everyone else’s world. It’s what made her the most guilty for leaving Brittany behind, and she  _ should _ be happy that Sam is there to make sure Brittany is okay and to  _ be _ there for her, but she hates how easily he filled that void.

Santana doesn’t mention this, though, not when Brittany tells her about Lord Tubbington’s new scheme and how he’s gained at least ten pounds since Santana last saw him. She lets herself, at least for now, pretend that everything is as it used to be, that they’re two best friends having dinner at their favorite place, like nothing bad has ever happened between them.

So when she’s driving Brittany home and the blonde asks, “Are you busy these next few days?”

Santana finds herself shaking her head. “No, just staying at home.”

Brittany’s lips turn up into that adoring smile that Santana loves, and it makes her heart ache in the best and worst of ways. It kind of makes her want to kiss Brittany, but she knows that’s off the table these days.

“I’ll come over for a Christmas movie marathon,” she announces.

“I don’t even like Christmas movies like that,” Santana reminds her.

Brittany raises an eyebrow knowingly. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

Santana rolls her eyes, but Brittany is more than satisfied with the response, humming along to the music playing. When they pull up to her house, Brittany is leaning over and kissing her cheek before Santana even realizes what’s happening.

“See you tomorrow!” Brittany singongs as she steps out of the car, waving excitedly before she’s walking back into her house.

Santana sits there, blinking for a moment. Her cheek is warm where Brittany’s lips just were seconds ago. She waits until Brittany’s front door closes before she slams her back against her seat, letting out a groan.

Only a few days, she tells herself.

She’s only here for Christmas and then she’s off to see her few friends she’s made in Louisville - the cheerleaders that don’t  _ totally _ hate her - for New Year’s. She can do this, it’s just Brittany.

But that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?

It’s  _ Brittany. _

* * *

**Britt Britt**   
iMessage   
Today, 10:05 PM

I’m so happy you’re home, San <3

Me too, Britt <3

* * *

Honestly, Santana was kind of indifferent about Christmas growing up. Sure, she liked it because for the long break and she received presents, plus it was the one holiday that she could guarantee both her parents would be around for the day, but she wasn’t the type of person who was all gung-ho, full out decorating and sniffing Christmas scents like an addict.

It wasn’t until Brittany waltzed her way into Santana’s life that her view on Christmas changed, and for four years, even if they were in a weird place, Santana looked forward to Christmas. There’s something magical about the holiday, she knows, that makes everything just  _ better. _ Brittany, in particular, seems to thrive this time of year, and though Santana spent all her time falling in love with Brittany, something about Christmastime made Santana fall in love with her a little more. Whether it be just how big of a heart Brittany has or how adorable she was when she was baking Christmas cookies and wrapping presents with her sister, it felt like Santana was always watching Brittany with heart eyes for basically the entire holiday.

And their first - and  _ only _ \- Christmas as girlfriends, well, it’s Santana’s favorite Christmas she can remember.

Santana feels like she’s brought back to this time last year when she comes back from the kitchen, two re-filled mugs of hot chocolates in hand, and Brittany is laying on her couch, her Cheerios letterman jacket thrown haphazardly on the staircase railing, trying to decide which Christmas movie to watch next. The blonde is wearing the rainbow Santa hat Finn had given her at last year’s Glee club Secret Santa that Rachel forced them all to participate in, and something warm and comforting fills Santana’s chest. Brittany looks so at home on her couch, in her home, and it’s hard to remember a time before Brittany, before endless sleepovers and hanging out. It’s hard to remember, looking at Brittany now, that the past few months have been so terribly different.

When she looks at the screen, she lets out a whine.

“We’re about to watch all  _ three _ Santa Clause movies, aren’t we?”

Brittany looks up from her spot on the couch and grins widely. “Better get comfortable.”

Santana rolls her eyes, but she’s placing their mugs on the coffee table and reclaiming her spot next to Brittany anyway. She doesn’t say a word when Brittany leans back into the couch and their shoulders touch, or when somehow, at some point, Brittany’s head is in Santana’s lap - Santa hat discarded on the floor - while Santana is running her fingers through her hair.

“I love this part,” Brittany murmurs softly against Santana’s leg during the second Santa Clause movie.

Santana smiles fondly. “I know.”

Brittany giggles softly against her leg, an arm thrown around Santana’s knee.

They watch as Scott wows Carol with the sleighride and snow, his magic slowly dwindling as he uses it to impress her. Santana knows when it comes to the part where Scott gives the faculty gifts they never received as children, Brittany’s eyes will well up with tears and she’ll sigh “it’s just so  _ sweet, _ San! He’s using his magic for good!”

And Santana will understand completely. She understands now more than ever because, this, right here, with Brittany in her lap even though Santana is sure Brittany’s phone keeps lighting up with unanswered texts from Sam on the other end of the couch, feels like she’s using up every bit of magic she can get to feel like, just for this weekend, this is still her life. That she is still Brittany’s and Brittany is still hers and nothing is different.

It’s mid afternoon by the time they get through the Santa Clause trilogy, and before she knows it, Santana is being yanked off the couch by Brittany and tugged along to the kitchen to make Christmas cookies. Brittany had shown up at Santana’s house that morning with a bagful of hot chocolate mix, their favorite candies and all the supplies she  _ knew _ Santana wouldn’t have to make Christmas cookies.

“You’re ridiculous,” Santana had said, shaking her head with a smile.

But now, watching Brittany read the instructions off her phone as if she doesn’t know the recipe like the back of her hand, Santana softens. 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or are you going to pull your weight around here?”

Santana laughs, walking around the kitchen island and hip checking Brittany lightly as she says, “Watch it, you’re in  _ my _ kitchen.”

“Keep up the attitude and I won’t make cookies,” Brittany threatens, but there’s a smile she can’t wipe off her face and her tone is playful and light and Santana soaks it all in.

“You wouldn’t.”

Brittany relents, her smile softening into something sweet. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

“Because you’re hungry and want to eat these cookies all by yourself,” Santana reasons with a smirk, beginning to pour the flour into the mixing bowl.

Brittany laughs, pushing at Santana’s shoulder playfully, and there is a lot of flour everywhere and a mess left behind that Santana will dread cleaning, but Santana plays Christmas music on the speakers as they bake and Brittany flits around the kitchen as if she lives here and they are happy and Santana is still so very much in love and it’ll hurt later, but in this moment she doesn’t care.

She’s smiling more than she has in months. Brittany’s presence is intoxicating, pulling Santana in so quickly that the brunette knew she’d never stand a chance, not against Brittany. She lets herself have this because she knows it won’t last forever.

* * *

When Santana wakes up, the credits for The Polar Express are playing. She faintly recognizes the music as she blinks, eyes adjusting to the darkness of her living room. There’s a plate of half eaten cookies and mugs probably half filled with cold hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of her. The screen is a little too bright for Santana as she squints at the clock above the centerpiece that reads 11:32 PM. She’s about to look for Brittany when she realizes there is a heavy arm around her waist and a warm body pressed to her back.

She and Brittany fell asleep on the couch, cuddled up like they’ve done time and time again, her back pressed against Brittany’s front and one of Brittany’s arms around her waist almost protectively. Santana has woken up in the position so many times it’s almost like muscle memory when she lets herself ease back into Brittany. Santana tries to remember how they even ended up in this position in the first place, but the last thing she remembers is deciding to close her eyes for a moment somewhere around the beginning of the movie.

Before she can pull herself away, she feels Brittany stir behind her, and for a moment Santana holds her breath. She’s afraid that this little bubble they’ve created around themselves will burst when Brittany realizes the position they’re in, that all the pretending that hasn’t felt like pretending at all has to come to an end. She braces herself for the let down, for the bittersweet words to come from Brittany’s mouth.

But instead, Brittany lets out a soft sigh and murmurs, “Babe? Is the movie over?”

Santana tries not to physically react at the way  _ babe _ just fell from Brittany’s lips, so natural that it seems like Brittany didn’t even notice the slip up.

“Yeah,” Santana manges to respond, unsure how she’s found her voice when she’s still processing. “Think we fell asleep for most of it.”

Brittany laughs, soft and sweet and tired. “Of course we did.”

The blonde doesn’t make a move to remove herself from their position, instead adjusting herself to be a little more comfortable. They lay in silence for a few moments, credits still rolling as Santana wonders what comes next and Brittany seems just content to lay on the couch for a little while. Santana thinks she’s still trying to wake herself up, anyway.

“Hey,” Brittany says a few moments later, sounding more awake as she sits up. She leans over so she can look at Santana’s face. “Can we go look at Christmas lights?”

Santana looks up at her, and god, Brittany is so beautiful right now. Her hair falls down over her shoulders and almost tickles Santana’s cheeks, looking a little messy after falling asleep on the couch. Her eyes show no trace of sleepiness, now looking light and hopeful at her latest request. She looks almost angelic right now and Santana’s heart squeezes in the most painful of ways because Brittany is here with her, but she’s not really  _ hers _ in the most important of ways. Brittany is the most heartbreakingly beautiful sight she’s ever woken up to.

It’s late. Brittany needs to go home and Santana needs to go to bed.

“Sure,” Santana nods anyway, because she’s never been good at denying Brittany what she wants, especially when she bats those stupid eyelashes and juts out her bottom lip.

“I’ll drive,” Brittany grins, energized enough to hop off the couch.

Santana scoffs, shaking her head as she slowly sits up. “No way. You hang out the window when we pass the lights. You’ll probably run into the curb. I’ll drive.”

Brittany shrugs, a lopsided smile on her face. “I can’t help it. The lights are just so pretty.”

_ Like you, _ Santana wants to say, but she doesn’t because she’s not an idiot.

It’s a fine line they’re walking lately, one that keeps blurring. But isn’t that what they always did to begin with?

She doesn’t have a chance to ponder this anymore because Brittany is telling her to get her coat as she pulls on her Cheerios letterman and Santana nods, going to the coat closet. Her eyes fall on the bright red jacket, one that matches Brittany’s, the one she lived in for four years and used as armor for most of that time. Santana reaches out for it before her brain can catch up to her actions, tugging it off the hanger where it’s been collecting dust since graduation and shrugging it on.

When she turns to find Brittany by the front door, there is something she doesn’t recognize in Brittany’s eyes.

“What?” Santana asks.

“Nothing,” Brittany shakes her head. “It’s just...you still look good in that jacket.”

Santana smirks, deciding to go the playful route instead of letting the love swell in her chest or waiting for her cheeks to flush. “Red’s always been my color.”

Brittany laughs, opening the front door. “Totally.”

If the cold when she steps outside doesn’t fully wake Santana up, Brittany’s burst of energy certainly does. The blonde is a mix of giggles and squeals as they get into Santana’s car, rattling off all the neighborhoods they should drive around. Santana nods along, telling Brittany to put the directions into her GPS so they can find the damn lights.

Brittany also plugs in her phone to control the music, and she’s immediately playing a Christmas playlist Santana has heard every year since they’ve become friends. When All I Want for Christmas is You plays, Brittany sings along but Santana’s mind goes back to last year. She thinks about the decorations in the choir room, of how in love she and Brittany were, of how everything was so  _ good _ and easy and simple.

(She thinks about how it was her first Christmas without her abuela mixed in with the festivities, but it wasn’t all bad because Brittany kissed her worries away and made it all feel not so terrible because Brittany loved her more than anyone and because of that, anything is possible.

Or at least, it was.)

Santana looks at Brittany now, singing in her passenger’s seat, and somehow everything is so different but still feels the same. Brittany seems to notice she isn’t singing along and pulls a pout.

“Sing with me,” she requests, then a little softer, “I miss singing with you.”

And how can Santana not sing along when Brittany says something like that?

Sometimes, Santana wonders if Brittany knows what she does to her.

It’s so worth it, though, because Brittany can’t stop smiling and she sings her heart out and looks at Santana like it’s the best night ever, and really, Santana can’t complain.

They hit at least three different neighborhoods in Lima, Santana driving nice and slow through each one so Brittany can roll her window down and hang her head out, like Santana knew she would, and take it all in.

Despite the whole Santa debacle a few years ago, Brittany has never once lost her childlike wonder when it comes to Christmas. Brittany may watch the lights, but Santana watches Brittany. Her eyes fill with awe at the pretty decorations, at the soft Christmas music playing. Santana can’t deny the love that fills her chest, her heart so full as she watches Brittany take it all in. She lets herself have this, too, because she doesn’t know what happens after Christmas, but right now, they are here together and that’s enough.

“They’re so beautiful,” Brittany breathes out.

Santana doesn’t take her eyes off of Brittany when she responds, “Yeah, they really are.”

She’s not quite sure how they end up being out for almost two hours, but it feels like hardly any time has passed. It never does when she’s with Brittany. Brittany doesn’t seem to notice though, even if she grows a little tired on the drive back to Santana’s house.

“I don’t want to drive home,” Brittany whines when she realizes what time it is.

“You should just stay here tonight,” Santana blurts out before she can stop herself.

Brittany lives like, seven minutes away at most. She can totally drive herself home. Santana should’ve kept her mouth shut.

Brittany tilts her head, hesitant. “Are you sure?”

Santana nods despite herself. “Totally. It’s super late and I’m sure you still have clothes in my closet somewhere. It’s not a problem, really.”

She wants to smack herself in the face, but the urge disappears when Brittany gives her a soft smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Santana repeats, and she smiles at the way Brittany looks so soft and dreamy right now.

They quietly enter the house despite knowing Santana’s father is on-call at the hospital tonight. The realization dawns on Santana as they trudge up the stairs that it’s just  _ her and Brittany _ alone in her house, and it shouldn’t freak her out as much as it does, because they’d done this so many times before they dated, but everything is different now. She hopes to god Brittany doesn’t think she expects anything out of this, that she doesn’t-

“You’re thinking too loud,” Brittany says as they enter her bedroom.

Santana blinks, looking at Brittany who flips the light on.

“What?”

“It’s okay, San,” Brittany tells her with a gentle, reassuring smile. “It’s just me.”

And Santana wants to tell her that’s exactly the issue, that it’s her. It’s just Brittany, who knows Santana inside and out, who has been there through it all, who was Santana’s entire world for four years. It’s just Brittany, who Santana has to figure out a new normal with, who still makes Santana fall in love with the slightest quirk of her lips or raise of an eyebrow. It’s just Brittany, and that’s what makes it all so complicated.

“I know,” she says instead, giving a smile that she hopes is enough.

Brittany knows better - always has when it comes to things like this - because she looks like she doesn’t believe Santana, but she gives the brunette’s arm a soft squeeze.

“We’re still us,” Brittany promises. “Let’s just be us, okay?”

Santana doesn’t know how Brittany does it, how she is so sure of them and their confusing state after all the history gone down between them. But she clings onto Brittany’s confidence in their friendship, nodding like she gets it, before Brittany disappears into her messy closet to find some pajamas to wear.

By the time Santana comes out of her bathroom, there’s no Brittany in sight. She frowns just a little, and for a fleeting moment she wonders if Brittany changed her mind and went home, but then she hears the faint music coming from downstairs and relaxes. Santana rolls her eyes fondly, knowing exactly where the blonde has wandered off to. Following the sound of the music, a song Santana vaguely recognizes, she wanders down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Brittany leaning against the island counter, happily munching away at their Christmas cookies. Santana immediately recognizes the long sleeve Brittany is wearing as hers, and her stomach flutters just a little at the sight of Brittany wearing her clothes again. The only light in the room comes from the overhead light above the stove, illuminating Brittany in a way that makes her look the way Santana feels every time she sees her: warm and fuzzy and always beautiful.

Upon seeing Santana, Brittany smiles sheepishly. “I got hungry.”

“Of course you did,” Santana deadpans with a fond snort, but she’s walking over and grabbing a cookie for herself. “Seriously Britt, what do you put in these? They’re like crack.”

Brittany smirks, wiggling her eyebrows as she answers back with, “Better than Puck’s weed brownies?”

Santana shakes her head with a smile, and Brittany mirrors her expression. They are tired and it is  _ so _ late, but all Santana can think about is the sweet cookies she’s chewing on and how much she loves having Brittany here in her kitchen. The song on the speakers switches and Brittany’s eyes light up in recognition, effectively dropping a half-eaten cookie and moving effortlessly around the counter to hold a hand out to Santana.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Dance with me.”

Santana takes her hand without a second thought, a reaction so natural she wonders how they’ve gone so long without being this close to each other. Something in Brittany’s eyes shines when Santana’s hand slips into hers, and before she knows it, the two of them are dancing around the kitchen to the quiet music. Brittany is so close and she smells so strongly of fruity shampoo and vanilla and something else that is just entirely  _ Brittany. _ Santana breathes in the scent, hoping she never forgets it.

When Santana recognizes the song, she almost laughs at the situation she’s found herself in. Because of  _ course _ this song would come up on shuffle for the two of them. Of course Brittany is guiding her around her kitchen like she always has, of course they are smiling and giggling and just a bit breathless like they’ve always been around each other.

Some things, Santana realizes, never change.

“Sing for me?” Brittany requests with a quirked lip.

“I’m starting to think you only hung around this long today so you could hear me sing all night,” Santana teases.

Brittany laughs, batting her eyelashes. “Maybe a little.”

But Santana relents, because singing to Brittany has always been one of her favorite things to do.

“ _ I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart… _ ”

And Santana tries not to think too hard about the words, about how damning this position is. Because Brittany is hers but she’s not  _ hers. _ Because here, in the dim light of her kitchen, she swears Brittany looks at her like she always has, like nothing has changed, like they still love each other like they used to.

Maybe they do, but Santana knows better than to ruin everything between them. She knows better than to be selfish, than to tell Brittany she takes it all back. Because she cannot be the reason she and Brittany cease to exist as they know it, refuses to repeat those awful, awful words from months ago.

_ You left me behind and it hurt. _

So Santana just holds Brittany close, singing softly in the small space between them, and if either of them are holding back tears by the end of the song, neither of them say anything about it.

“Come on,” Santana sighs softly as another song starts to play. “Let’s go to bed.”

She pulls away only to let one of her hands slide down Brittany’s arms and slip into Brittany’s hand. Brittany intertwines their fingers right away, letting Santana tug her up the stairs all the way to her bedroom.

* * *

I t’s the sunlight harshly streaming through the window that wakes Santana up. Unable to block out the light, she inwardly groans, knowing that it can only mean that it’s probably almost noon now. She feels herself start to grow grumpy until she hears a soft sigh and feels nuzzling against her shoulder.

_ Brittany. _

Santana’s body relaxes into her naturally, closing her eyes again as she revels in Brittany’s warmth. They are a tangle of limbs underneath the sheets, Brittany’s ankle hooked around Santana’s leg. The other girl is still very much asleep, and Santana realizes just how much she’s missed waking up to this. She lets herself settle back into the mattress, allowing herself to enjoy this moment - at least until Brittany wakes up.

Her stomach has other plans though, letting out a loud grumble that makes Santana scowl. Now that she thinks about it, those Christmas cookies she and Brittany made last night were technically all they had for dinner. Knowing Brittany will probably be hungrier than she is when she finally wakes up, Santana decides it’s worth it to get out of bed if only to have breakfast and a cup of coffee waiting for the blonde.

As soon as she makes a move towards the edge of the bed, she feels a hand tugging her waist back, followed by a disgruntled noise from the blonde. She tugs again, this time hard enough to bring Santana back to her original position.

“No, sleep.”

Santana chuckles softly when she looks back, Brittany’s eyes are still closed but she’s pouting like a child with her eyebrows scrunched together. Neither of them have ever been morning people, but with the exception of a big day where Brittany’s excited about something, it’s always been Santana who’s gotten them both out of bed.

“I’m going to make us breakfast,” Santana explains with a smile.

Brittany doesn’t budge. In fact, she tightens her grip on Santana’s waist as she mumbles, “Stay here.”

“Britt,” Santana laughs softly. “You can stay here. Let me make some food, I know you’re hungry.”

Brittany cracks an eye open skeptically. “Will there be pancakes?”

Santana gives her a knowing look as she answers, “There’s always pancakes.”

The answer is enough for Brittany who smiles just a little in her cute, sleepy way before she’s loosening her grip on Santana’s waist and snuggling into the pillow beneath her head instead of Santana’s shoulder.

“Okay,” she sighs into the sheets.

“Sleep as long as you like,” Santana insists, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her forehead out of habit before she’s sliding out of bed and pulling on the first sweatshirt she finds.

When she looks back, Brittany’s eyes are closed again and she’s wearing that smile that Santana loves, the smile that’s said so many  _ good mornings _ and  _ I love yous _ and  _ let’s stay in bed a little longer. _ There’s that feeling in her chest again, the one that constantly comes back when Brittany does just about anything, and Santana is humming softly to herself as she makes her way downstairs, busying herself in the kitchen so she doesn’t think about how Brittany is asleep in  _ her _ bed.

By the time she’s finishing up the eggs and bacon to go along with their pancakes - chocolate chip because they’re Brittany’s favorite - Brittany has finally emerged from the bedroom. Her hair is carelessly thrown up into a bun with loose strands falling out on both sides and she’s still in Santana’s long sleeve. When Santana doesn’t notice her right away, Brittany sneaks up behind her, wrapping her arms around Santana from behind.

Santana startles for a moment, but then rolls her eyes when she hears Brittany laughing behind her.

“You’re so funny,” she deadpans.

Brittany hums happily, resting her chin on Santana’s shoulder as she watches the brunette flip the scramble eggs all around the pan.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” she murmurs softly.

Santana smiles, looking at the eggs and not Brittany when she repeats, “Merry Christmas Eve.”

Brittany pulls away from her then, and the immediate lack of warmth is painfully obvious, but she moves to the coffee maker and opens the cupboard above to grab two mugs, the mugs they always used to use together - one of which Santana hasn’t touched since - well, you know.

They sit across from each other at the kitchen table once everything is ready, Brittany going straight for her pancakes while Santana sips her coffee. 

“Your pancakes are the best,” Brittany gushes around a mouthful of said pancakes.

Santana rolls her eyes. “Your stomach’s just empty because all we had for dinner were cookies.”

“So not true,” Brittany insists before her stomach lets out a growl. “They’re totally the best. I love your pancakes.”

“Smooth,” Santana smirks behind her mug. “You’re just trying to get the most out of me while I’m in town.”

There’s something honest in Brittany’s eyes when she responds, “Yeah, maybe just a little.”

They have spent countless mornings like this, moving around the kitchen and each other so easily. It’s funny how still, after all this time, Santana finds herself wanting this in the future, a future she’s not even sure is possible anymore. She feels like she’s a younger version of herself again, the one who would steal glances at her best friend when she wasn’t looking and push down the longing of wanting to wake up to Brittany just like this every day in a faraway future.

It’s funny, how everything changes and yet nothing does.

They are too busy bickering over who’s going to wash the dishes - 

(“It’s fine Britt,  _ you’re _ the guest.”

“But Santana, I basically invaded your house for the past twenty four hours. It’s the least I can do.”)

(Santana doesn’t tell her she doesn’t mind at all, not when she’s missed this oh so much, not when Brittany is so, _ so _ close.)

\- as they move their plates from the table to the sink to hear the front door open and close, to hear the clack of Maribel Lopez’s shoes on the hardwood floor.

“Santana?”

At the sound of her name, the bickering stops and they both turn to find Maribel leaning against the entryway of the kitchen, looking at them in pleasant surprise.

“ _ Mami, _ you’re home!” Santana exclaims, rushing over to pull her mother into a hug.

Maribel laughs, wrapping her arms around her daughter before pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good to see you too,  _ mjia. _ ”

When Santana pulls away, she hears a soft and hesitant, “Hi, Mrs. Lopez.”

Maribel gives Brittany a look, opening up her arms as she says, “Don’t give me any of that nonsense, Brittany. Come here.”

Brittany’s lips grow into a wide smile as she’s crossing the kitchen to wrap Santana’s mother up in a hug and Santana is so thankful that her mother takes it all in stride because as far as Maribel was aware, Santana hadn’t made any plans to see her ex-girlfriend and kind-of-still best friend before she left for her work trip.

“It’s so good to see you,” Maribel hums.

But over Brittany’s shoulder, Maribel is quirking an eyebrow and Santana’s cheeks flush a little as she shakes her head. Her mother only raises her eyebrows curiously, but she’s back to smiling when Brittany pulls away.

“What have you two troublemakers been up to?” she asks curiously.

Brittany nudges Santana playfully as she answers, “Well, I was  _ trying _ to tell Santana I’d wash the dishes since she’s been such a nice host.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “I told you already, it’s my house, you don’t have to.”

Maribel rolls her eyes at them both, and it feels so normal that Santana forgets everything that’s changed.

“Just put them in the dishwasher,” she tells them with a wave of her hand. “I swear, you two always do this. It’s fine, throw them in there and then go on with your day.”

Santana and Brittany look at each other for a moment, as if the idea of the dishwasher hadn’t even occurred to them. Maribel lets out a sigh.

“You two are still so clueless,” she mutters under her breath, then looks at the two of them again. “I’m going to go unpack and change, but Brittany, stay as long as you’d like. You know you’re always welcome here.”

And Santana kind of loves her mom at the moment, how easily she’s accepted that Brittany is suddenly a presence in their home and makes it feel like it always has. 

“Thanks, Mrs. - Maribel,” Brittany corrects with a shy smile. “But I should head home soon. Christmas Eve and all.”

Santana tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Of course, she knew this wouldn’t last forever, but the past day has consisted of nothing but  _ BrittanyBrittanyBrittany _ and she doesn’t want it to end, not yet.

“Well, either way, it’s been so good to see you again,” Maribel assures her, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Tell your family I said hello.”

Santana gets one last look from her mom, telling her she won’t get away without an explanation later. Santana only rolls her eyes in response before her mother is leaving them in the kitchen again by themselves.

“You know, we’re kind of dumb sometimes,” Brittany muses.

Santana lets out a snort before she’s walking towards the mess of plates they left by the sink as Brittany follows suit. When they’re all put away and Brittany’s gathered all her belongings she’d brought over yesterday, they linger by the front door.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The question surprises Santana, and she meets Brittany’s eyes since they collected her stuff. Brittany looks at her expectantly with her wide, curious eyes.

“Tomorrow?” Santana questions.

Brittany nods like the answer’s obvious. “Yeah, tomorrow’s Christmas. You always come over.”

“Oh,” Santana says, blinking.

It had been lingering in the back of her mind since Breadstix with Brittany, really. They’ve spent every Christmas together for as long as they’ve known each other, a tradition Santana secretly loved way more than she’d like to ever admit. But things are different now, and Santana was fully expecting to spend Christmas day with her parents - and  _ without _ her abuela for the second year in a row - and she figured it'd have to do. Because Brittany isn’t her girlfriend, and she’s a loose definition of a best friend these days, and things aren’t as simple as they used to be.

“I - um, are you sure?” Santana hesitates, because she’s so thrown off. She was positive that Christmas wouldn’t be spent with Brittany post breakup, not when she left Brittany crying in the choir room just a few months ago. “I mean, it’s a big family day and I know y-”

“Santana don’t be silly,” Brittany cuts in with a shake of her head and a slight smile. “Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you. And like, I need to give you your Christmas present.” 

She feels relief at first, because she’d been going back and forth with herself about buying Brittany a Christmas present this year after the way things went. Quinn had given her a sad, understanding look when Santana confessed she indeed did buy Brittany a present but was undecided on whether or not to give it to her. 

(“Santana, it’s not stupid,” Quinn had promised. “It’s Brittany, of course you did.)

So to know Brittany also has a present waiting for Santana at home, to know that they are still on the same page even when they aren’t - well, it just feels  _ good. _

And it’s  _ stupid, _ really, how something new fills in her chest like a balloon. Because  _ Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you _ could translate to  _ this pain won’t last forever _ or  _ this is just another test in the road for us. _ It could mean either of those things or something different entirely, but Santana shouldn’t get her hopes up.

“What about your parents?”

The question is out before she can process it, but she lets it sit because she has a point. She hasn’t seen Pierce or Whitney since the weekend she broke up with Brittany, and honestly, she wouldn’t blame them if they don’t want anything to do with Santana ever again. Because they treated her like family, like another daughter, and all she did was leave Brittany behind and break her poor heart. Brittany deserves so much more than Santana, and Santana knows it so she’s sure her parents do too.

Brittany looks at her fondly, like she can read the worries in Santana’s mind.

“They miss you too,” she admits quietly. “So does the munchkin.”

Santana softens at the admission, at the way Brittany’s eyes are warm and familiar and impossible to deny.

“Okay,” she nods. “I’ll come over tomorrow.”

Brittany’s face lights up and she lets out an excited little squeal before she’s throwing her arms around Santana. Santana catches her easily, like she always does, and lets the soft laughter fall from her lips as Brittany squeezes her tight and kisses the side of her head

“See you tomorrow,” Brittany hums when she pulls away.

Santana watches her open the front door, smiling like an idiot when she confirms, “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

Santana loves waking up on Christmas morning because she can smell her mother cooking a feast far too much for only three people. Before last year, Santana’s abuela would be taking the lead on the feast, insisting there could  _ never  _ be too much food. It’s still weird when Santana wanders downstairs to find her father at the dining table enjoying his morning coffee and only her mother in the kitchen, no grandmother to fuss over every little detail, but the sight of her parents both at home and relaxed still fills her heart just the same.

“Merry Christmas _ Papi, _ ” Santana murmurs softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her father’s cheek.

He smiles, turning his head to kiss her cheek in return. “Merry Christmas, Santana.”

Santana grins before she’s gliding into the kitchen to see her mother fussing over the stove. She wraps an arm around her mother’s shoulders before kissing her cheek, too.

“Merry Christmas, _ Mami. _ You’re making way too much food,” she comments with a snort.

Maribel only rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans into her daughter’s embrace anyway as she replies, “Merry Christmas,  _ mija. _ It’s never too much, it’s just leftovers so I don’t have to cook for the next few days.”

Santana laughs, a little fond and a little sad because it’s something her abuela used to say. She leans a bit more into her mother, Maribel seeming to understand the feeling because she presses their heads together for a moment and lets out a soft sigh.

“I was thinking you could bring some over to Brittany too,” her mother suggests lightly. “You’ll be heading over to the Pierce’s later, no?”

Santana pulls away to look at her mother, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Were you eavesdropping on us yesterday?”

Maribel lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You two, the same as ever.”

Santana opens her mouth to ask exactly what her mother means, but her father is pressing a warm cup of coffee into her hands and kissing her forehead and Santana lets herself enjoy her morning with her parents, who sit around the house and actually don’t do any work at all, not when they open presents or when they sit around and play music and catch up and watch a Christmas movies or two.

It’s nearly afternoon when Santana finally slips out of the house - or, rather, builds up the courage - to make her way to the Pierce household, Brittany’s wrapped present and some food her mother forced her to bring in her passenger’s seat. She hates that she’s nervous, that the anxiety is bubbling deep in her stomach and making its way to every other part of her body on the short drive over.

Brittany has insisted that she was welcome, but it’s sinking in that the last time Santana was even at the Pierce house was well before their breakup. She’s made this drive countless times on countless days at countless hours, and yet this time seems like an excruciatingly long drive.

She panics for a moment as she turns on to Brittany’s street, wondering if Sam will be there. Brittany hasn’t said anything - it’s a topic they’ve cleverly avoided these past few days - but she doesn’t have to. Because Santana isn’t stupid and Brittany  _ knows _ she isn’t stupid. Plus, if Brittany doesn’t say it out, Santana can pretend - at least for the holiday - that Brittany is still hers and hers alone. If Santana really wanted to hear about the deal with Sam, she and Brittany both know she’d ask.

When she pulls into the Pierce driveway, Santana is relieved that Sam’s car isn’t parked out front, nor is it anywhere on the street. She sits in her car for a few minutes, staring at the wrapped present as everything builds up in her head.

“Here goes nothing,” Santana mumbles to herself as she gets out of the car with presents and the tupperware of food in hand.

Her stomach churns as she walks up the Pierce lawn, ringing the doorbell with a trembling finger before she waits. 

One, two…

The door swings open and Brittany is there, flannel pajamas and her hair flowy wildly down her shoulders. She’s beautiful in every way, even though Santana knows Brittany hasn’t done anything besides roll out of bed and spend the morning going between the Christmas tree and kitchen. She looks like she’s been waiting for Santana to arrive all day, and it’s all a little bit too much, but in the best way possible.

“Merry Christmas Santana!” Brittany beams, every bit of charming and endearing as she’s always been.

Santana can’t fight the smile on her face when she replies, “Merry Christmas, Britt.”

“SANTANA!”

They are saved from standing there smiling at each other like idiots when Brittany’s younger sister sprints over to the door and shoves at Brittany’s waist to hug Santana fiercely.

“Hey little munchkin,” Santana chuckles softly, her hands occupied and preventing her from hugging the younger girl back. “Good to see you.”

Brittany watches them fondly for a second before she’s eyeing the tupperware in Santana’s one hand.

“Is that…?”

Santana rolls her eyes at the way Brittany’s mouth practically waters, offering it over to her while she explains, “My mother thought you’d want some. Somehow, she knew I’d be coming over.”

Brittany flushes just a little at Santana’s response, but she’s taking the tupperware excitedly from her hands so the brunette can lean down and wrap an arm around the youngest Pierce.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Brittany’s sister exclaims.

Santana purposely avoids looking at Brittany when she responds, “I know, college has kept me super busy. I’m sorry.”

She gives Brittany’s sister an apologetic smile which seems to work because she’s suddenly being tugged by the wrist into the house by the younger girl. Brittany laughs and follows them into the living room.

Santana braces herself for an awkward interaction with Brittany’s parents, who are so much like Brittany that it just makes sense sometimes. But Whitney is wrapping her up in a warm hug, smelling like the sweet treats Santana knows she’s baking in the oven, and Pierce greets her like he always has, with a fond smile and launching into a nonsensical story that Santana always,  _ always _ pretends to follow along. She nods and laughs and gives vague enough responses for him to be satisfied, and Brittany watches on with twinkling eyes like she always does, finding it endlessly entertaining that Santana of all people has the patience to put up with her father.

It genuinely surprises Santana that she’s still so welcome here - with the exception of Brittany and her sister, of course, who is too young to fully understand it - but the Pierces have never batted an eyelash her way, even offering their home if she needed it when they found out about what happened senior year with Sue and the ad.

(Because Santana knows of hurt, especially when it comes from the family member you treasured most. 

She knows what it’s like to have hurt or offended someone you wanted to share everything with and be shut out, and this is nothing like what she experienced last fall at her abuela’s home.)

Santana is pretty sure she’s never deserved any of the Pierces, really.

Brittany falls into the empty space by her side naturally on the couch, and they fall into easy conversation with her family, the TV as mere background noise until the brownies are ready and Santana is eagerly following Whitney to help add icing and sprinkles with Brittany in tow. It feels just like every Christmas she’s had since knowing Brittany, and Santana likes the way this hasn’t changed about them, that this is still  _ Santana and Brittany _ in one of the simplest of ways.

And then Brittany’s little sister is dragging them out to the backyard to play in the snow, which has now built up enough for them to make snow angels and a small snowman and maybe even have a snowball fight. Santana can’t say no, because it seems like it’s hard to say no to  _ any _ of the Pierces, really. Brittany is radiant and happy and light hearted through it all, and Santana finds herself - like she so often does - following along. 

Santana remembers this time last year, when Brittany had tackled her mid snowball fight, she distracted her long enough by kissing her silly, to the point where the fight was all forgotten and they were too busy saying  _ I love you _ and  _ you’re cute when you’re competitive _ and  _ I love Christmas with you. _

Now, when Brittany and her sister both tackle her to the ground, they laugh so hard their stomachs hurt and Santana catches Brittany looking at her longer than she should. There’s a beat and Santana kind of wants to kiss her because Brittany’s hair is a little wet from the snow and her nose and cheeks are so rosy from the cold and -  _ god, _ it’s not hard at all to remember all the reasons she fell in love with Brittany in the first place.

But Brittany’s sister is yelling at them to get up and help finish the snowman, effectively bursting their bubble. Santana is quick to stand back up, offering a hand to Brittany as she looks down at her boots with flushed cheeks. Brittany only mumbles a soft  _ thanks  _ before they return to snowman-building duties and a sad ache fills Santana, because it’s different this year and they know it, no matter how hard they try to pretend it’s not.

They exchange gifts, and Santana’s glad they both went the safe route. It’s personal enough but not  _ too _ personal, a safe area for them after years of meaningful and deeply personal Christmas gifts. Santana gives Brittany a hat she saw at the mall in Louisville that she just knew Brittany would love. Brittany gets Santana a candle that allegedly is supposed to smell like New York, but really Brittany thinks it just smells like perfume Santana would buy with a little masculine scent mixed in. 

(Santana laughs and says it’s perfect. She knows she’ll be thinking of Brittany every time she lights it.

She doesn’t say that part, though.)

And maybe they stay in Brittany’s room for the rest of the day, playing music and talking like nothing has changed between them at all. Santana holds onto every moment of these hours, from the way Brittany laughs at her clever comments to argues with Lord Tubbington over his nicotine addiction for a solid five minutes. She wants to remember every inch of Brittany in the ways she can before their time is up, before Santana is on a flight to see her friends and Brittany is back to doing...whatever she and Sam do now.

At one point, Lord Tubbington makes the trip from Brittany’s desk chair to the bed, curling up against Santana’s leg.

Brittany coos, fawning over her cat. “Aw San, he missed you!”

Santana laughs softly, leaning up just enough so she can reach down and scratch behind the cat’s ears

“Missed you too, Tubbs,” she tells him and she finds that she actually means it.

Because she missed everything about Brittany, Lord Tubbington included.

Brittany looks at them fondly, and Santana’s heart quietly aches because this is how Brittany always used to look at her. It’s how she looked at her when Santana told her running for class president was a great idea, or when Santana sang her a love song in front of the entire glee club with her chest puffed out. It’s how she looked at Santana when she asked if they were dating and how she looked at her when she handed her flowers at graduation.

Santana blames it on the holiday, on how Brittany is so integrated with the idea of Christmas. But somehow, Santana misses Brittany even when they’re laying in her bed together side by side, talking about everything and nothing.

“So,” Brittany starts when there’s a lull in conversation. “When do you go see your college friends?”

There’s something different in her voice when she asks the question, Santana notices. Like the idea of Santana’s  _ college friends _ leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Santana can’t blame her; she knows what it’s like to know your best friend is living a whole different life without you these days.

“My flight’s tomorrow night,” Santana answers.

The silence that sits between them for a painfully long moment hurts, and Santana hates the way the light leaves Brittany’s eyes just a little. 

“Oh. That’s soon.”

Santana hates the way Brittany’s voice falls flat, how her shoulders slouch and she avoids looking at Santana. There’s always been a need to smooth out Brittany’s wrinkled brows or kiss her frowns away, and it’s no different now. It’s like an itch she can’t help but scratch, trying to ease Brittany’s worries.

“We can do brunch tomorrow,” Santana offers. “Before I leave.”

The corners of Brittany’s lips tug up into a smile and Santana feels chest grow warm as she watches Brittany come back to life, just a little.

“Is that a yes?” she asks, her voice light and teasing.

Brittany nods, meeting Santana’s eyes when she says, “I’d love to do brunch.”

“Cool,” Santana says, smiling like a total dork, but she doesn’t care because Brittany’s wearing the exact same smile on her face.

When Santana finally drags herself downstairs, insisting she should head back home, Brittany is right behind her.

“Thanks for having me,” Santana calls out to Brittany’s parents.

“Oh Santana,” Whitney smiles, wise and kind. “There’s no need to thank us. You have to know you’re always welcome here.”

Something inside of Santana eases hearing Whitney’s words. For a little bit, she was so afraid she’d become an outsider to Brittany’s family, to the people who have never once hesitated in treating her like their own. To know that they aren’t throwing her out on the street after everything that’s gone down, it’s relief to say the least.

Santana smiles in response, stepping out onto Pierce's front porch. Brittany follows, closing the door behind her.

“I told you,” Brittany teases with a light hipcheck. “It’s not Christmas around here without you.”

Her comment makes Santana soft on the inside, and maybe on the outside too, as she shakes her head zealously at Brittany’s comment.

“I’m glad I came,” Santana confesses quietly.

Brittany’s looking at her with a gaze Santana can’t quite decipher, and though it should bother her that she can’t read Brittany as well as she used to, this particular look intrigues her more than anything else.

“Me too,” Brittany whispers. “Merry Christmas, Santana.”

Santana’s eyes wander just a little, noticing the mistletoe Pierce and Whitney always tried to hide on the front porch for whoever might approach. For a second, she wonders if Brittany’s stopped here on purpose, but those blue eyes are so focused on Santana, so warm and familiar and  _ homey _ that Santana finds she doesn’t actually care to find out.

Instead, she leans up just a little, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss Brittany’s cheek. If Brittany’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She smiles Santana’s absolute  _ favorite _ smile, the one that’s always been meant for her and her alone.

“Merry Christmas, Britt.”

* * *

Santana wonders how it’s possible to dread and look forward to something at the same time. It’s how she feels now, driving over to pick Brittany up for the brunch she promised yesterday. While she’s thrilled she gets to see Brittany one last time before New Years and high school starts back up, she hates it all the same. Because one last time means that it’s ending, that her days will no longer be filled with blonde hair and blue eyes and that radiant smile.

Brittany slides into her car with a soft  _ hi _ before she’s grabbing Santana’s phone to commandeer the music selection for the drive. Santana only rolls her eyes with a quiet smile in response, trying not to comment on how Brittany’s playing their high school playlist they made with Quinn somewhere between freshman and sophomore year.

The ride is mostly silent save for the music and quiet singing from both of them, but there are gentle smiles and missed glances and all of it feels kind of beautifully sad. It’s not too different when they get to the diner, though the conversation picks up, there’s an overwhelming feeling of  _ the end _ of whatever this weird thing is, whatever it is they’ve been doing for the past few days.

They share pancakes and an omelette because that’s what they always did when they went out to brunch. Santana sips on coffee while Brittany chugs orange juice happily, and it’s all perfect even though it’s not.

Santana can start to feel her own heart breaking because this is it. Tonight she’ll be off to see her friends in a life Brittany doesn’t understand, and by the team she comes back for the last bit of her break between semesters, Brittany will be back at McKinley, back with Sam and glee club and the Cheerios. And they will go back living two separate lives with sparse text conversations and the very rare phone call.

She watches Brittany shove another forkful of pancake in her mouth, much like she did the other morning in Santana’s kitchen, and her heart warms at the fact that these moments are for Santana alone, that no one - not Sam or anyone else - can look back on these past few days.

“You keep doing that,” Brittany comments.

Santana tries not to flush at being caught, feigning innocent. “Doing what?”

“Staring at me.”

“I...it’s just…” Santana stutters, looking away from Brittany.

“It’s okay,” Brittany promises in a quiet voice, and when Santana meets her gaze it’s full of understanding and maybe even a little yearning when she adds. “Sometimes I can’t stop staring at you, either.”

Santana cannot begin to describe the affection and adoration that fills her at Brittany’s response. They have always been on the same page, even when they’re not, and Santana knows it’s not only her heart breaking just a little today. Not when Brittany’s eyes look a little sad but content to be in this moment, here with Santana.

Maybe they drag out brunch longer than necessary, and maybe they argue over who’s paying - Brittany wins because she says Satana’s driven her around Lima the past few days, anyway, it’s like paying for gas - and then stay a little longer to talk about stupid, nonesense things until Santana knows she has to go home and finish packing.

Brittany switches up the playlist on the way home, this time it’s the one she and Brittany made senior year of all the songs they both like. Santana doesn’t tell her that she listens to this playlist and Brittany’s Valentine’s Day playlist in Kentucky when she’s lonely and missing her best friend. She doesn’t say a word, either, when Brittany’s pinky links with Santana’s hand that rests on the console. 

Dread fills Santana’s stomach when she pulls up to Brittany’s house. Somehow, the past few days have felt like years and minutes all at the same time. Brittany bites her lip, looking at Santana with a crooked smile.

“I can’t give you a proper goodbye hug sitting in your car,” Brittany tells her, eyes alight with a playfulness Santana knows she’s using to even out the mood.

Santana chuckles and nods in agreement, killing her engine before they both get out of the car. She takes her time making it around to the passenger’s side where Brittany stands, pretty and patient like always. She makes a show of rolling her eyes before she opens her arms up with a, “Alright, come here.”

Brittany grins so wide her cheeks could burst before she’s wrapping Santana up in a tight embrace. Santana falls into her easily, arms wrapping securely around Brittany’s back. Brittany smells like fruity shampoo and vanilla and kind of like the blueberry maple syrup she poured all over her pancakes back at the diner. There is so much they both say in the way they hug each other, and Santana knows so well that most of the time they’ve never needed words to communicate.

In this hug, they say  _ I miss you  _ and  _ I still love you _ and  _ you’re my best friend, always. _ It’s the way they say  _ I wish we could be like this forever _ and  _ Please don’t let go _ and  _ I don’t want to do life without you. _ Santana wants to say all this and more, so she squeezes Brittany even tighter to make sure the message gets across.

It’s received because Brittany squeezes her right back before they both ruefully pull away. They rest their foreheads against each other, taking in this one last moment.

“We’re still us,” Brittany whispers in the space between them, a watery smile on her lips.

Santana nods, their foreheads bumping softly as she steadies her voice. “I know. We’ll always still be us, right?”

“Always,” Brittany whispers reverently like a promise.

There’s a pause and then Santana says, “Thank you.”

Brittany doesn’t have to ask what for, she just knows. She responds by pulling Santana against her again, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before she pulls away, this time for good.

“Be safe, San.”

“You too, Britt.”

Brittany bites her lip, offering one last smile before she’s walking up to her front door. Santana leans back against her car, arms crossed as she watches Brittany. The blonde throws one last look back, Santana’s favorite smile on her lips and maybe a tear or two in her eye. Santana offers a wave, realizing only then that tears have welled up in her own eyes as well. Brittany waves back before she’s closing the door and Santana is letting out a heavy sigh.

As she drives back to her house to finish packing, she thinks of Brittany’s words from the other night in her bedroom.

_ Let’s just be us, okay? _

It’s not much, but the hope still floats in Santana even long after she’s left Lima after the holidays.

**Author's Note:**

> ps: the song Santana sings to Brittany when they're in the kitchen is ho hey by the lumineers, because well - it fits


End file.
